Social Pragmatism
by CatKlaus
Summary: Upon the murder of Queen Stateira, the empire of Alexander the Great faces collapse. Yes, I know a good 90% of it never happened or is described differently than what really occured, so any inaccuracies are on purpose
1. Prologue: Poet's Slander

AU: This is complete historical fiction, extremely anachronistic and inaccurate, and frankly never happened. I don't own anything by Menander, Memnon, Athenaeus, or any other writer mentioned in here. This isn't really set in Ancient Greece--it sort of developed a Victorian-era vibe to it. Don't take any of this seriously. If you want to know more about Dionysius of Heracleia, Amastrine of Persia, Alexander the Great, or Cleopatra of Macedon, by all means, look them up.

Social Pragmatism

Though such talk was dismissed as rumor, the word spread quickly that it was Queen Stateira's bones found fresh and scattered across the floor of the oubliette.

Dionysius Clearchusson jostled his way through the growing crowd, cringingly so, with his eyes half closed, his head down, and his fleshy shoulders hunched almost in shame. It had been awhile—three, maybe four months possibly—since Dionysius had allowed himself to be seen at all, so it must have been a surprise to anyone to see the fat, skittish noble just barely navigating his way through the aristocratic district of Second Alexandria. Still, just sensing their inquiring and, more often than one would think, _mocking _glances still made poor Dionysius slightly nauseous. He'd been plagued by the paranoia of being followed since he'd arrived at the metropolis some half-hour ago, but she—Cleopatra, unbeknownst to him—had proven herself quite competent in remaining unnoticed as she trailed him, until the lady herself should decide to confirm her lingering presence.

The King's sister had been tracing Dionysius's footsteps since she'd spotted him trembling in a corner near Fourth Street, stunned and frightened and ruffled from being shoved around in the current of civilians. He'd get used to it soon enough if he planned on being a notable presence in Hellenistia's nobility, if not its political scene which had undoubtedly been churning most turbulently since Stateira had vanished. Cleopatra certainly hoped so; someone besides herself certainly had to maintain a sense of diplomacy amidst Alexander's reckless, ambition-driven haughtiness.

However, Cleopatra wasn't as worried about political conspiracies as she otherwise obstinately was. She shoved her way through a cluster of scholars without a word of apology, despite their irritated cries of what an impossible shrew that ghastly woman was, and made sure she knew where she was before correcting navigational errors of certain others. She snared Dionysius by the shoulder with her silk-gloved hand, and almost chuckled despite herself at his cry of shock.

"My dear Dionysius, you're hopelessly and unquestionably lost, so don't argue with me when I redirect you," she said congenially, disregarding formal greetings as she always did.

"Cleopatra!" Dionysius yelped, pale, shaking, and hyperventilating as though he'd just been held at knifepoint. "Praise the gods, are you ever a person I'm glad to see amidst this catastrophe!"

"You're seeking to speak with my brother, aren't?"There was no hiding the jaded sound of mechanical repetition in her voice—_everyone _was seeking to speak with Alexander of late.

"Actually," Dionysius contradicted rather delicately. "It would seem I can trust you more so than His Greatness, but yes, I would be obliged for him to lend me his ear. However, it seems this city has become as impossible as its founder…I've completely missed the agora, haven't I?"

"The agora's been torn down, love," Cleopatra corrected him with a roll of her eyes and an air of disdain towards her brother's decisions. "Alexander's decided it's not fitting for a monarchy to still sentimentalize its democratic roots, quote unquote."

"Torn down? O, certainly you're not serious!" A nod from Cleopatra confirmed otherwise. "Of course that means I'll have to speak to him within the walls of his own domain! Ugh, this is hardly my day!"

"Consider it a warm welcome on your return to the outside world," Cleopatra reasoned amusedly, tweaking his cheek. He flinched away, and she scowled. "What on earth have you been up to these past few months, anyway? I was almost starting to believe the rumors that you've completely secluded yourself out of some petrifying shame."

"Of course that's just a rumor," Dionysius interjected a little too quickly. Cleopatra eyed him suspiciously but decided against contradicting him.

"And then you show up unannounced in the most celebrated city in Macedon, looking like you've just stumbled out of a battlefield. How did you manage to get _this_ already?" She indicated the dark purple bruise just a few inches below Dionysius's left cheekbone. He gingerly put a hand to it, and winced at the sudden pain.

"Never mind that, you know my side of the Euxine is still nursing a grudge against me even after removing me from power," he snapped. Dionysius had been a minor form of royalty before the exiles from his city, Heracleia, appealed to Alexander to overthrow him. Now, he was reduced to a mere noble, in his opinion, although Cleopatra saw no reason for him to complain. He'd had it easy, mainly because his father had been a close ally to their father, King Philip II. But his wealth had been maintained, and he still had a considerable amount of influence in the political world despite a few stabs at his dignity.

"Alexander's meeting with Oxyathres of Persia, and they were shouting by the time I left the palace, so don't expect him to willingly listen to anyone for a day or so," Cleopatra advised him with a sigh.

"Oxyathres has always been an ally of His Highness," Dionysius protested.

"I don't think he was keen on Alexander betrothing Amastrine to General Craterus, allies or not." Amastrine was the Persian lord's daughter, which of course would make her cousin of Queen Stateira, who Alexander married because she was the daughter of the Persian King Darius, or Oxyathres's brother.

Dionysius shook his head. "It's impeccable that I secluded myself just when the happenings regarding the crown fell to chaos. Stateira's disappeared—probably dead—Amastrine is being given to a warmonger, the agora has been demolished…This is an apocalyptic age, undoubtedly."

"Leave the prophecies to charlatan soothsayers and the fools who listen to them. I have news that will prove worse in your eyes than doomsday," she added with a bitter simper.

"O, I don't even care to know!" Dionysius groaned.

"You've been a popular subject in satirical literature," Cleopatra went on ruthlessly.

Dionysius made a sickened sound as if he'd been struck in the stomach. "Not that Hades-damned demon Athenaeus!"

"He's certainly developed a scorn for you since he visited Heracleia, judging from some most interesting passages in _The Deipnosophists_."

"You've _read_ his overblown garbage?" Dionysius cried, sounding betrayed. "And when did he show up in Heracleia?"

"_Of course_ I've read his overblown garbage; I find it all very amusing."

"You're a sadist."

"Which is a publicly unaccepted way of saying _social pragmatist_."

"Bah! I suppose the lady pharaohs from centuries ago who murdered their way to the crown would say the same, you viper," he retorted. "I intend to read _The Deipnosophists_, since it seems to be earning me an unappealing reputation."

"I would say you've done that quite competently without the observations in _The Deipnosophists_."

"_Observations_? More like slander!"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. Athenaeus's writing is mediocrity, and will be out of print within four years. However, if what I hear is true, Hippocrates has referenced you in one or two of his works regarding medical science."

"Insult to injury! Gods, strike me dead where I stand!" The gods did not oblige; to the contrary, they were probably laughing at him just as much as their mortal vassals on the earth.

"Don't invoke the gods for petty matters, Dionysius."

"This is hardly a petty matter! Don't give me that look, this isn't melodrama! I'm facing a crisis, and all you can do is—is _mock_ me!" His voice gave way and raised a few octaves near the end of his outcry. Cleopatra just shook her head.

"Well, what are you going to use as your alibi, if Athenaeus's writings regarding you are untruths? Or are they?"

"Of course they bloody are!" But his bluff crumbled under Cleopatra's suspicious gaze. "What exactly is he writing, in any case?"

Cleopatra half-smiled, almost out of sympathy. "From what Athenaeus wrote, I was almost surprised to see that you're as vivacious as you are." For nothing truly surprised Cleopatra of Macedon. "Aside from a few vindictive passages regarding you, you may actually find _The Deipnosophists_ a most fascinating read, although slightly unmemorable. It's a Menander passage from his contemporary poem _The Fisherman_ that sticks in my mind, as the poet introduces some Heracleian exiles. It's really a shame I don't remember it all—I'd be quite amused to witness your likely melodramatic reaction."

Cleopatra's memory was unparalleled in Macedon, save for perhaps the gifted and most experienced of scribes and clergymen, but she'd recently been focusing on storing Alexander's words in her mind's usually vast cargo space for any situation that he contradicted himself to excuse injustice.

"Wait a moment—when was I ever in Menander?" Dionysius demanded.

Cleopatra sighed. "I repeat—_The Fisherman_, while Menander is introducing a cluster of Heracleian exiles."

"You've misread the text," Dionysius assured smugly.

"_I'm never wrong_."

"That verse was truly about _me_?"Dionysius bristled. "Poets!" he shouted. "The sheer _nerve_ of it all! It's an outrage!"

"You have mentioned on several occasions your acute detest of poets," Cleopatra said, her calm a mirror opposite to his lividness.

"The muses themselves are amused by my shame, Cleopatra. The world has lost its moral fiber to pure _sadism_."

"Social pragmatism, to you," Cleopatra corrected, and laughed wickedly for the first time in quite awhile.


	2. The Pit of Cannibals Conspiracy

"So it's been proven?" Cleopatra confirmed, looking up from her seventh or eighth rereading of _The Iliad_ to regard her brother with skepticism. "Stateira was thrown into the pit of cannibals, then?"

"Oubliette," Dionysius hissed at her. Cleopatra bristled in her state of stress.

"By all means! And I suppose you weren't overthrown, you were removed from power. Same damned concept," she growled. "It's beside the point. Alexander, are you worried at all about who is behind this murder?"

The Emperor sighed. "Am I to sentimentalize every tragedy that runs across my path, Cleopatra? Amastrine is betrothed to General Craterus, thus Macedon's ties to Persia are maintained through her."

"Yes, of course, how could I forget? You fell in love with the little serpent, and Stateira was but a tactical and financial advantage. Monarchy! 'Tis nothing but madness!" If Queen Roxana had heard the Emperor's sister speak of her harshly, Cleopatra might very well have ended up devoured by starved madmen herself.

"Ah, sister, I should have remembered—morals apply only to others, while your lack thereof is simply practicality."

Dionysius coughed uncomfortably. Cleopatra swung around to give him a black look before answering his accusations with a shake of the head and a dismissive gesture. And she departed.

_Who does he think he is? _was her final thought before someone leaped from behind a Corinthian column of black marble to hold a small scalpel to her throat.

"By Ares, release me or the whole royal guard will have swarmed this hallway before the last summon leaves my throat," Cleopatra snarled.

"Yet who will they answer to?" retorted a voice clear as a clean knife and vindictive as a child-biting plague rat. Roxana slowly took the weapon from Cleopatra's jugular, sheathing it in a kerchief before tucking it into her bodice.

"Instinct told me it was you, so truly I am always right," Cleopatra mused, but she was thinking fast. Roxana was a dangerously persuasive leech of the crown, and Alexander would never once consider that she was half as deadly as the rest of the Hellenistic nobility knew too well. "So, enlighten me, what exactly had poor Stateira done?"

"As I hold a knife, I shall fill the role as the questioner," Roxana snapped. "Now, _enlighten me_, to whom are you betrothed?"

"I am promised to no one," Cleopatra growled.

"Don't lie to me, you whore. It's Perdiccas, is it not?" The knife was back out and cold against Cleopatra's neck. Cleopatra said nothing.

"_Isn't it_?"

"I am promised to no one, you harpy," Cleopatra repeated with vehemence.

"You're lying to me!"

"You're paranoid."

"You have your eye on a General! You seek to overthrow us upon your marriage!"

Cleopatra cackled. "You truly are an incarnation of Scylla! The business of conquering was recessive, saved for my brother! What, did you see the same deviance in meek little Stateira before you had her ripped to shreds in a pit?"

Roxana's slender, lean muscled arm snaked around her neck until the lack of oxygen drove Cleopatra to unconsciousness.


End file.
